Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter THEN! Bendy Lisa and The Brat broke up with Batshit El Deano, like, eighteen years ago, and then Bobby sent Dean to meet with Doctor Visyak, a Medieval Studies professor at "San Francisco University" who let him touch her sword. Meanwhile, it turns out My Sweet Baboo's been secretly working with Crowley all season long to open a portal into Purgatory so the two might feast on the beastie souls they find therein, so Dreary El Deano broke up with Castiel two weeks ago. Got all that? "I do!" shrieks Raoul The Big Gay Supernatural Dragon, who for once has prestocked his cunning little drinks cart with hundreds of soothing flagons well in advance of this episode's start, for he knows we're in for a very, very long night. "How ever shall we endure it, I wonder?! [Slurp!]" Oh, I think you've got a handle on that one -- just be sure to pace yourself, doll. "Hee!" Are we ready for this? "We are not!" Too bad. Hit it!

Rattle, Rattle Tacky Blue Glitter NOW!, and once again, the Tacky Blue Glitter NOW! is a LYING LIAR WHO LIES, for no sooner has it vanished from the screen than a little card appears to inform us we've landed in Providence, Rhode Island on a dark and stormy March 15th, 1937. As the camera begins its slow pan through a well-appointed study, we can hear the sounds of someone furiously pounding away on a typewriter somewhere just off-screen, and as a particularly punishing thunderstorm continues to rage away in the night outside, the camera eventually lands on the bespectacled gent responsible for all the clattering racket over at the study's massive desk. To be honest with you, he's a pretty fast and remarkably accurate typist, despite the fact that he appears to be using only his index fingers. We should also probably take into consideration the additional fact that he's slugging back bourbon like they're about to reinstate Prohibition in the morning. "Atta girl! [Slurp!]" The bespectacled gent types and types and types some more until he finally taps out "THE END" in bold black letters, and as he arranges the pages of his manuscript on his blotter, the study door slowly creaks open, seemingly of its own accord. DUN! The dim lights surrounding him buzz and blink and flicker on and off, and while that might be attributable to the electrical storm raging on the other side of his windows at the moment, it's probably because a foul and noisome beastie has just invaded his home, for when the bespectacled gent calls out, "Hello?" he receives nothing but an ominous silence by way of reply. Dun-dun-DUN!

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